


Snake Charmer

by OKami_hu, oksammich



Category: Yoroiden Samurai Troopers | Ronin Warriors
Genre: M/M, Naga, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:33:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oksammich/pseuds/oksammich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How could a flawed creature have a perfect one's love? Only at the dead of night, shrouded in secrecy, stealing what he yearns for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The Flawed Prince

**Author's Note:**

> We're rethinking Naaza's past once again, playing with his snake legacy. We'll use the Japanese names but English titles. 
> 
> I'll be adding chapters as they get done. =3

His heart broke once.

Not over a female, a love; no unrequited passion, no dying flames. It was nothing that selfish, because he was a good son, a responsible prince, and a beacon of all that his people should aspire to be. He wasn't spurned by a beautiful noblewoman of fine stock, with perfect, wide hips, her tail fat and long, twitching in invitation to carry his offspring.

Love had no place for the next in line, if he would be so weak as to abandon his people when it all failed.

No, his heart broke when the weeks passed and the sun and all Her sorcerers couldn't warm the small, olive-colored eggs that he'd so proudly provided from his own body. How could he fairly rule over the women of his land if he did not experience their joys, their pains, their sorrows? The birth of a tiny, wriggling heir, produced by the seed of a warrior and the rare, delicate egg of a fair and just prince, would mean that he was worthy to take the throne. There were five of them, small enough to rest in his palm and large enough to tear screams from a lesser man as they passed into this world. He laid with them against his murky body, under the sun, under Her sorcerers, warming them, praying, singing softly and smiling often.

The Sun Mother woke and rested forty times.

His children never came.

His father, who had borne this prince the same way, sent for anyone who could explain, but it was the word of a commoner, a midwife and nurse, who took one look at the eggs and cast him into darkness.

Empty.

She lifted the smallest one and broke it upon a blade of gold, much to his horror. In her smooth hand, the leathery shell tore, and a formless mass slipped lazily to the alabaster floors beneath them. Empty, she explained. Empty. They never hatched because there was not a body inside to begin with.

Incredulous at first, the male who provided the seed was blamed. But Ankor, the powerful, rugged war hero, had fathered many children before he was chosen to give an heir to their prince.

His heart broke then. For the life he'd never have--a sterile king was as good as a sun with no light, no heat. For the sudden change from adored prince to shunned outsider, as his sister, younger by only hours, easily produced a red-scaled son and became worthy. For the heirs he'd never know.

So with his heart broken, he left the warm sands of his youth and turned both eyes to the darkness. He wished to die, cold and blind and alone, but a voice came to the prince as he anguished, raged, cursed his bloodline.

It would give him everything if he gave it all his pain.

He remembered the night with incredible clarity. Naaza was starving then, not from hunger but from an unfulfilled fury that turned him from a kind leader to a hideous, twisted shadow of his former self. He stayed in the Badlands, where his people dared not stray for fear of the poisonous shadow that offered sweet promises in exchange for all they held dear. He hunted as a boy, yet it was nothing like what he did in the blood-colored rocks. His methods were brutal; he located his prey and chased it until it was exhausted--the beautiful, long-winged _carapwes_ he'd adored once became his preferred meal. Once the creatures slumped to the ground, he lazily slid toward them and grinned so they could see the fangs dripping venom that burned the insides like fire. Sometimes he bit to hear the screaming; sometimes he wrapped around them, to feel the last breath as it was forced from the lungs.

That night, he'd squeezed. The delicate creature crushed within his body was subjected to the horror of having its wings torn off first. He devoured it with greed. As the blood dripped from his mouth, he caught sight of moonlight reflecting off a bent wing. The blues and golds, like the thinnest glass, sparkled with priceless beauty, a cruel reminder of a palace with cords of jewels and translucent silks and eggs broken atop golden blades, leaking the nutrients he'd made with his own body, he and he alone..!

His roars echoed through the worn valleys of the Badlands, accented with the steady sound of ripping, tearing, shredding as he cursed them. How he wished for the sun to turn black! Let the naga freeze under the careless, unloving, closed gaze of She the sun!

He tore the wing into ribbons, yet its pieces seemed even more lovely than the whole. Laughing, taunting him with images of his sister on the throne, her heir probably shedding for the first time, wearing -his- crown, -his- jewels..! Immediately, his mouth turned bitter with venom, and he spat onto nature's glass. The shredded tendrils quivered as if with life, then blackened, curling in what he prayed was pain. He could not create life with this pitiful body, but death was supremely more satisfying.

As he sank back into his body, the muted green wrapping around caramel skin roughened from exposure to sand, he was able to taste a coldness in the air. Not a passing shadow, as a night hawk in front of the moon, but water that didn't move and looked like crystal. Even his poor naga eyesight could see blackness moving with deliberate slowness, with white dancing like smoke above its upper half. "My poor prince," it murmured, a male voice that quieted the rustle of wind over sand, "My poor, poor prince."

He replied with a threatening rattle, tip of his body shivering with an angry buzz.

"No, no. Not a prince anymore." The form had.. Legs. Two legs. It looked like a naga to its middle, then became a hunted creature, perhaps a lowing beast. As it stepped into the light, Naaza saw a face that shone like the moon itself. Mouth open in a proud leer, fangs bared in the darkness of its maw, it tilted forward without a single twitch of muscle. It could've been carved from ivory; it was white like the smoke--the hair? The eyes were black, he thought, until he got a better look and realized that they were just as empty as his eggs. Naaza swallowed heavily. "Just a boy, a lost, angry boy."

The naga straightened then, rising up as high as he could and squaring his shoulders in a display of dominance. Immediately, his hood joined the demonstration, stretching the width of his shoulders, halfway up his neck and down his back in streaks of threatening yellow and green and bronze, flecked with violet. His rattling grew louder now and venom nearly erased the flavor of reason. "Not a prince, not a boy either," he'd hissed in reply, "Just a fiend with little patience. You're fortunate I've just eaten."

It was smiling though the mouth didn't move. “Little harm could you do to me, child. Your venom cannot harm stone and your grip cannot hold smoke. I am more powerful than any that you know for I am the demon lord Arago. And you are but a wretched creature anyway. Flawed, weak, useless. Aren’t you?”

The words bit harder than stones on the wind, and he felt his stomach clench in response. It was true. He was a poor excuse for a prince, a naga.. a living creature. Ugly boy, stupid boy, useless boy... how did this creature even know?

Perhaps the entire realm knew at this point. The Naga prince Naaza was empty and weak. “Yes,” he replied finally, the rattle on his tail gradually subsiding to silence. “You speak the truth. Now begone.”

Hollow laughter echoed over the barren fields. “Is that it? Just accept whatever they tell you and curl up in misery? And here I thought you were made of sterner stuff! I thought I glimpsed a fire, venom’s blaze, fury’s heat inside you... Looks like I was wrong for coming here, ready to offer to bestow my gift of power on you...” The figure - Arago - turned halfway, cocking his head to the side. “Looks like your ancestor’s blood turned water in your veins... A pity, that.”

“Prince or not, I am still a son of these sands!” He didn’t know he was capable of feeling this, but that cold suddenly burst into a raging flame inside, and made his voice carry with an intensity that startled him. “What power could you possibly offer to me? My body is imperfect but my spirit pleases my ancestors!

“Ooh, so the snake is still ready to strike!” Arago stepped closer and the air around him could be felt crackling with raw power, like sharp metal on sensitive forked tongue.

“I have traveled many a mile to find warriors who could lead my demon army. To be my trusted warlords, the extension of my fists to smite my enemies, to conquer everything. I have much to offer to them... A powerful suit of armor is awaiting in my treasury, tailored for you, Naaza. I can make you immortal, stronger than any of your kin and a hundredfold more deadly. You already bear venom, but I have the might to make it so potent that one drop could kill a hundred. You are not a prince but you could be a conqueror. You are barren, but that is but a sign: you were born to deal out death, to rule over it! Join me and you shall be a legend, a general no mortal could defeat. And if you so desire... You can have revenge.”

He remembered the tales of greed and vengeance, whispered songs over firelight meant to instill fear into children who sought to take the darker path to glory. They told of the laughing shadows of the Badlands. Naaza had never believed them, even as a boy shedding his skin for the first time. He was always so certain that he would be able to resist the charms of the darkness.

Yet here he stood, towering over this figure, smoke in shadow, and he felt strangely at peace. Eyes wide, his heart hammered in anticipation; his rattle shook, but not as a threat. He was intrigued. “You can make me a god..”

“Something very close to it.” The deep voice sounded amused. “I have already found two of my warlords. They are young, like you, but they’ll grow into unstoppable soldiers. Those powers come with a price though. You’re to live in my demon realm, train diligently and obey me. You are free to pass between realms, but once I summon you, you’re to rush back to my palace. And that tail won’t do you any good in battle. You will need to learn to walk on two legs. I’m not going to completely take away your snake flesh, mind you... You’ll be free to choose between forms when out of your armor. I have to wonder though... which one will you like more, this one...” he gestured with an armored hand at Naaza’s tail, “Or the one stronger, and unflawed?”

Naaza felt his misery flow out in one breath, heat building behind his eyes as he dropped to eye level, then lower. A prince knelt only before his king; but he wasn’t a prince anymore. “Make me perfect. Make me powerful.” He swallowed heavily. “My lord.”

The triumphant laughter roared like thunder.


	2. Stand up and walk

Reality seeped back slowly as he was waking from the slumber - the raging magic pulled a lot more from him than just scales and body mass. He was laying on a thin mattress, under a light silky blanket; the room was cast into shadows. The air felt a bit cooler than he was used to, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The scent of calming sandalwood was drifting around sweetened by cinnamon; and he thought he could pick up some noises, shifting, clothes whispering. He wasn’t alone.

His throat ached from screaming. He once prided himself on taking pain like a true warrior, but he’d never experienced anything like the transformation before. His tail disintegrated from his body like it was submerged in liquid flame; once the scales were gone, the pain intensified when the tail was split in half.

He moved his rattle--his “foot”, now, and glanced down despite the ache behind his eyelids.

Naaza was small now. He was very small.

Slowly, he pushed himself onto the heels of his hands. There was no muscle to hoist him up now. The two limbs under the thin blanket shuddered but didn’t move any further. So these were “legs”. And just how were they more effective?

The thoughts were interrupted when their slight twitching sent pain up his spine and down into his stomach. Retching, he buried his face in his arms and swallowed down the nausea. It was cold here, which did little to help the pain.

Immediately, soft hands came round his shoulders, warming him slightly. “Are you alright? Don’t strain yourself. Can I help somehow?” The words were spoken softly and one hand began moving soothingly over his shoulders. He could feel that his hood was gone, too.

“It will pass. Demon magic can be taxing on somebody of flesh and blood. You just need some rest and food. Are you thirsty?”

He kept his head down. The voice was nice and gentle, but he didn’t think he could bear to look up. Naaza did not want pity, as inviting as the words were.

Out of habit, he tried to rattle, but the resulting movement made him hiss in pain. “..water,” he rasped.

The other was gone in a heartbeat then back in ten more, this time offering a fine cup for the ex-prince. “Here. If it hurts you, you shouldn’t move. Probably your body is still adjusting to the legs.” There was a momentary pause. “It shows you were a snake.”

“Naga,” he corrected. He was stubborn, though, and turned over to sit on his flank. The shift in position made his head swim, but Naaza was a strong man. He could do this! In his olive-colored hands, he held the cup and tipped it to his lips.

Then stopped.

There was a pretty thing watching him. A fine thing, delicate and pale and.. very pretty. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The pale young man swept his snow-white tresses behind his ear - on the other side of his face, the soft waves still partially obscured a black eyepatch. “You are one of us, and Arago ordered me to take care of you, anyway. I’m Rajura, the Warlord of Illusions.” He smiled proudly, tipping his head up a little bit. “I’m to make sure you’re fine and help you getting settled. The palace is full of low-level demon servants, who have to do your bidding. Almost anything you could wish for, they’ll get it for you.” He smiled again, this time softer. “We should see your legs. I guess they feel weird after having a tail.”

He wished very much that the smiling would stop, because it made him feel quite awkward. Naaza had never seen coloration like this before: pale skin on white hair on light eyes and pink lips? Such combinations didn’t exist in his desert realm. “See them?”

He looked down at himself, then peeled the blanket away. The sight made him frown in disgust. Both limbs looked small and frail--there was no way that he could possibly manage to move as quickly as he had with his tail! With a grimace, he reached, brushing the odd “toes” at the very tips. “They don’t rattle,” he mumbled.

“Rattle!” The pale Rajura threw his head back and laughed. “Or no, they don’t. You’ll have to find another way to intimidate your enemies.” He touched a knee, nodding to himself. “You have strong, good legs. The magicians did a good job. Does my touch hurt?” The frail hands gently massaged the calf muscles.

He hadn’t felt this shyness before. Those white hands should’ve been cool, but they were still invitingly warm. Soothing. “Y-yes.”

Naaza batted those hands away, refusing to mention that the touch hurt, but not in his legs. “Don’t do that anymore,” he added, as he shifted to try and roll up onto his knees. “You’re a warlord?”

“Just like you,” Rajura nodded. “Once you’re in a perfect condition, Arago will present the armor to you. It is the armor of Venom.” He tilted his head to the side. “Fits nicely. The other warlord, that of Darkness’ is out hunting right now; his name is Anubis.”

“There will be three of us.” He shook his head. In his realm, odd numbers were considered unlucky. Their armies were grouped into units of ten, companies of one-hundred; their royal families had no more than two heirs at a time. Most mated pairs never exceeded four children. The third child, the odd man out, would be targeted by shadows and cold without a partner to take his hand. “A poor choice of numbers.”

His hand reached out and he pushed his weight forward, rolling onto the small “toes”--he guessed that he was supposed to balance on those? When he stood, he discovered his error. Naaza, the graceful prince, pitched forward onto his face.

Thankfully, Rajura was swift, catching him and curling arms around the olive body. “Easy! I got you. Place your weight on your entire feet, not just the toes. Here, hold on to me. You just have to get used to it, that is all.” As frail as he seemed, Rajura had no problems supporting another.

“Also, do not question Arago’s decisions. Besides, there is a fourth armor. He just needs to find a wearer for it, one that possesses the armor’s virtue.”

“F-four is good.” He couldn’t help himself. Face pressed to Rajura’s arm, his tongue flicked out so he could taste the fair man’s scent. It was rich with spice, with an underlying sweetness that he couldn’t place. This warlord was nowhere as threatening as a male naga, but not so beautiful and delicate in the face to pass for a female, either. It was something he couldn’t understand.

Naaza tried to move so only one arm was necessary for them to stay linked together. The muscles in these legs were strong. He watched them ripple beneath his flesh, the sinew working together to support him. “All right.. I will stand.” He broke away, arms stretched out to the sides. The toes pointed toward one another, knees shaking, and he swayed back and forth in attempt to stay upright. “Hn!”

“You’re doing well.” Rajura held out a hand. “Hold onto me and just try to move your feet. Your toes should point forward. It helps if there’s a bit of space between them, your stance would be more stable. I see your muscles work perfectly, they won’t need training. That’s good. Less time wasted in the palace.”

How could this male manage to sound so helpful without being condescending? Naaza found that he didn’t mind when their hands met. His fingers were shorter than Rajura’s, but thicker. He curled them gently, using the other man’s strength for support. By shifting his weight to the side, he could point his toes forward, then stood with his legs shoulder-width apart. His lips quirked and he glanced up with a shyness he prayed would go unnoticed. “Your eye is a color I’ve never seen before. I have never seen a sapphire or topaz the same shade.” He lifted his chin. “Step back, please, and I’ll walk to you?”

Rajura nodded, clearly amused. He took a step back, never releasing Naaza’s hand. “Blue eyes aren’t common among my people. They shunned me because of it. But, it’s nice to know that some find it attractive.. You’re unusual-looking to me too, but not unappealing. You have a snake’s eyes. May I ask why is there a mark on your forehead?”

He shuffled forward, barely lifting his right leg, then moving it ahead. All went well until he tried to put his weight on it without locking his knee a little first; he sagged, but straightened immediately after thanks to the white creature’s hold. “I am--I was a prince.”

Then came the left foot. He stood a little straighter this time. “This mark proves I was royalty.”

The only eye widened as Rajura blinked in surprise. “A prince? But then how come-” He bit off the sentence and lowered his head briefly. “I’m sorry, that would be rude of me to ask. If you’d like to tell your story, I’ll be eager to listen, but don’t feel pressed. I think every one of us have their little secrets.” He took another step back. “The magic seems to tell your body how to use your legs. I’m looking forward to taking you back to the mortal realm.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I am no longer the pitiful boy I once was.”

Of course, it was at that moment that he staggered forward, balance lost, and crashed into Rajura’s chest.

How could he prove to be a suitable ally in battle if he couldn’t master these inferior legs? Naaza pinched his lips together and straightened up. The white hair felt like silk. He stepped forward, wobbling, but making small, even strides.

Rajura kept on leading and encouraging.


	3. Honey and Venom

Failing itself wasn’t the worst part. No, for Naaza, the warlord of Venom and terror of all that flourished, it was the silence after Arago admonished him. The five eyes upon him might’ve watched for different reasons, but to him, it was all the same thing: he was flawed.

Still flawed.

Decades had passed since he took his place at Arago’s side. He turned from the Mother sun-worshipping naga to a warrior with a thirst for blood. He’d quickly forgotten mercy, even fairness and honor, existing only to spread his master’s hold across any realm he so desired. When he helped the demons in freezing the sands and blackening the skies of his home realm, he was only mildly surprised to find that he felt no remorse. His boots crunched over the frozen ruins, jewels and rich silks ruined forever by the chill, and finally understood that Naaza, naga prince of the Mother sun, was truly dead. He didn’t miss the light anymore. Laughter and music, dancing and singing, the crystal waves of an oasis pool and the welcome breeze of a heated day, were all forgotten. The only remnant of his once-self was in a word he was trying to banish, too.

Beauty remained in Arago’s palace in the netherworld. He tried to ignore it, yet as the years stretched on, he found his focus shifting until it was fixed entirely on that one source. It had one blue eye, and was the only one that offered an apologetic smile instead of a sneer when he dragged himself back. Which was happening more and more often.

He wasn’t a slave to his desires. He’d never been such a creature. As soon as he got his feet under himself, he tried to treat the pale creature with disdain and annoyance. When this failed, he tried aggression. Eventually, avoiding him completely also left Naaza so miserable and so frustrated, he gave up. He would call Rajura his friend and just enjoy his quiet company, all the while hating himself for being a pitiful excuse for a warlord. His naps in artificial light were peppered with heated dreams, where his dark skin tangled with white and he he shared his strange body without fear of revulsion. He became strong, a man that would please such a lovely creature.

Then he woke and realized he was still broken. He dragged himself in from his failures and couldn’t meet the eyes of the other warlords, then retreated to his private quarters to suffer in silence. He found himself wanting, no matter how little he deserved it. His body had a regular cycle, where it craved a session of lazy, tender mating to quench the heat inside his small, tiny womb. Fantasies only did enough to intensify his misery, so farther and farther down he spiralled. He longed, he fought, he failed. Over and over again.

Rajura didn’t seem to know, he didn’t seem to notice. He just went on being beautiful, ethereal, maddening, either in combat or dancing in the gardens, magic’s shimmering threads swirling around his lithe form almost visibly. He was oblivious to the Snake's suffering, which was twice as painful. If only he had raged, or belittled him, or expressed disgust, it would have been so much easier.

But he didn’t.

Eventually, the misery was bound to reach a point, when something snapped. Naaza had no other choice but to succumb to his desires. If the only way to achieve what he yearned for was by treachery, then so be it. He was horrible, he was insane, he was far from perfect - what’s one more sin but another item on a long list.

He’d learned to milk his own venom at a young age. When unable to spit his poison due to distance, he could dip the tips of arrows into the vials he’d filled himself. Thanks to the powers imbued by his armor, he could change the concentration to do whatever he pleased: a more painful, burning poison, an agent that could dissolve armor... or even a narcotic capable of causing a deep, deep sleep.

Dressed in his robes of muted browns and deep green trim, he apparated in front of Illusion’s quarters with a ceramic pot of teas from Earth realm’s Middle East. They tasted of home, and with a bit of added honey and cream, became something that he could enjoy with Rajura. The spices were the perfect cover for the slightly-bitter taste of the venom. His calloused knuckles rapped on the delicate wooden frame and he waited with his eyes downcast to make his ultimate betrayal.

The door slid aside, revealing the chamber’s pale occupant. Pale as a ghost and still solid, white as snow and still warmer than a summer afternoon. The scent of fruits and sandalwood drifted out to the corridor.

“Naaza,” Rajura smiled, brushing his hair behind his ear. “To what do I owe the pleasure? It’s getting late. Do you need my assistance with something?”

Pleasant as ever. He returned the smile only faintly, half-praying that Rajura would know what he was plotting. “Tea with a good friend?” he asked in the softest voice he could manage, holding up the tea pot so he could see. “I brought honey from Earth realm’s tribal lands and cream from the highlands.”

Bribery. Did his sin know no bounds?

The lone blue eye lit up and the pale warlord invited him in. “I was just thinking about it myself! A well-brewed drink will bring us a pleasant rest. Sit, please, and tell me about your trip. I love to hear good tales.”

Rajura began to move around, laying out cups and tea blends, pulling the kettle from the small fireplace. Everything in his chambers was just as refined as him - soft silk pillows, colorful rugs piling up in one corner, elegant lacquered desk in another. Naaza could glimpse some large spiders perched silently just below the roof, awaiting their master’s orders. They never moved when he had a guest.

He didn’t want to speak about the trip, but he humored his dear friend anyway. Laying the kettle over the fire, he watched in morbid fascination as the heat took over and began to boil the water. He could easily just take it away, venom and all, and dump it out. Dump it on a lesser demon, Anubis.. even himself.

But those lips moved, his heart ached, and Naaza stayed still. “Amusing that you want to hear about my dismal failure,” he commented, staring forlornly at one of the small cups.

The finely drawn pink lips tightened into a frown. “Not again! Your performance is dropping as of late, and I can’t figure out why. You still train, your armor is as strong as it was... I am forced to believe that some ailment is troubling you and you try to hide it. Naaza, if that is the case, seek help, I beg of you! The four of us have to persist. We cannot afford losing you to some sickness!”

Part of him was ready to admit exactly what plagued him, but he found himself reaching for the kettle instead. The tea turned amber inside the cups, steam billowing up and furling toward his dark hand. “I am immortal, Rajura. Even if I am ill, no sickness can take me.” He looked down to the sweets he’d brought, and felt his chest trill and throb in a painful palpation. “It’s my own weakness. I’ll continue to train, harder than before.”

“Well, we’ll have to see about that.” Rajura sighed and took the cup. “For the time being though, let us enjoy the mortal realm’s offerings.” He dripped the clear honey into his tea, sniffing the sweet liquid gold, his only eye closing from bliss. He lifted his cup to his mouth and took a sip, savoring the taste. It was his undoing... and he had no idea, how much.

He spoke softly to him through the evening, sharing a few of the more exciting anecdotes of his failed mission. There wasn’t much to impress him with. After the first few mouthfuls of tea, that lovely eye glazed over.

All he had to do was help him to bed and he could clear his conscience. He reached his ugly hand out to touch Rajura’s fair cheek and the Illusionist didn’t stir. “I told you once that I was a prince. Do you remember? You taught me how to use my legs, but you never saw me without them.”

The noise from the other party, Naaza took to be an affirmative. He scooted across the fine cushions to sit at his side, allowing himself the small luxury of absorbing his body heat as he pressed to the other man’s hip. “Did you want to see?”

Rajura looked at him, eyes half-lidded. He was gone, so far gone, in a waking dream, mind barely processing what was said. It took him several long seconds to comprehend the question. Then he nodded, lips moving but they couldn’t form coherent words; body asleep and mind half-awake. A delicate hand crept up to rest on Naaza’s.

“I thought so.” He tilted his head and kissed the tips of those long fingers. He couldn’t bring himself to kiss anywhere else, as if it would somehow redeem him from what he planned to do. Arms sliding around that thin waist, he tipped forward enough to let Rajura recline on his silk-covered bed. Naaza kept his back to him, as though modesty was really going to make a difference. His robes pooled around his feet, leaving him bare but strangely calm.

Transformation was easy. The pain was all but ignored now, as his legs fused together, then stretched far, far, much farther than they should. At the same moment, the ink that stretched from his shoulders to his mid-back began to arch, popping through his skin, the ribs piercing flesh and spreading into mottled color. He towered over that pale, prone form, forked tongue sampling the air around him, even as his vision darkened and his other senses took hold. Rajura’s heat was bright as a flame in the inky blackness of night. His leathery tail curled tip-first, wrapping the Illusionist in the loosest, gentlest hold it could manage. With his hands he disrobed him, and with his naga body, he gave warmth that the clothing left. “Do you like it?” His heart ached, but he held Rajura still. “I’ve always wanted to show you.”

Glazed eyes turned downwards to take in the sight and soft fingertips brushed against the scales. Rajura’s head rolled back so he could look up at the ex-prince and he managed to smile - maybe in approval. There was hardly any way of telling.

“You don’t have to look at me.” He’d prefer it if he wouldn’t. If Rajura would just pretend that he was with someone else, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe. “Just close your eyes.”

He brushed the hair from his face and shivered. Some part of his mind tried to reason that his attraction would cease if his naga half touched a human--that wasn’t the case. The long legs wrapped up in his body felt absolutely perfect. He laid so still save for his breathing, pliable and willing as Naaza touched him. His hips were slim, waist tight and compact; every beat of his heart shot heat up Naaza’s lengthened spine. It chased the guilt away for just a moment, for he missed warmth as much as he missed the feeling of laying down next to a worthy naga and curling close while their bodies undulated in an ancient dance. His hips rolled on instinct--he even guided Rajura’s hands to rest on them, as if he considered himself worthy to truly court the beautiful, delicate thing.

Naga mating rituals involved much movement and contact. Sharing heat, rubbing skin on skin, was considered more erotic than the actual act of mating itself. So, Naaza was in absolute bliss. His hands couldn’t get enough, wandering shyly over the length of his slim back, then tracing from his shoulders down to his wrists. The ridges of muscle were subtle, belaying little of his true strength; Naaza knew better. He appreciated every inch he could reach with light flicks of his tongue. He tasted through scent, but this felt better. More intimate. The texture of his skin was like the flesh of a young peach, and idly, he wondered if Rajura had been younger than he when he came under Arago’s service.

The illusionist lay limp in the embrace, but not unfeeling; his body was still aware of the gentle caress and acted accordingly. Heartbeat sped up, breathing deepened and quickened, alabaster skin flushed with pink. The lone blue eye fluttered shut and a soft moan drifted forth from beneath slightly parted lips. And lastly, As the flames began to stir in his lower belly, his manhood began to harden as well.

He watched in quiet interest, daring to trace his fingers down the length of Rajura’s front, then ghosting over his hips to rest on the crease of his thigh. The human penis had come across as strange at first--his own was internal, where the sensitive organ could be kept safe as he moved. After a few secret, embarrassing injuries in his two-legged form, he learned to move while keeping such a tender area well-protected. It made for interesting thoughts late at night, when he caught one of his comrades moving to and fro and knew immediately that they were so vulnerable beneath their robes. It disgusted him at first, but for one man in particular, he found that it became a most arousing thought when Naaza’s mind flitted a certain way. His own was dark in color, turning a deeper shade when it was engorged; Rajura’s turned the color of his mouth, though, and he found himself wanting to share a forbidden kiss as his thumb and forefinger encircled it.

While a human member wasn’t as long as a naga’s, it was thick enough to be intimidating. The naga womb was deep inside and required length over girth to ensure pregnancy. For what Naaza wanted, it was certainly going to be a rough ride. Biting his lip, he curled the tip of his tail around Rajura’s ankle, then wrapped it ‘round and ‘round up along his thigh. The rattle pressed flush to the tip of his blushing member, and after a moment of hushed breathing, Naaza willed it to vibrate. He shuddered when it twitched and swelled, the scent of his arousal culminating with the sensation of liquid rolling over his leathery scales. His own body wept in response.

There was a slit a few inches beneath the juncture of his flesh and scales, where his penis emerged when he found a suitable female. And below that was an opening that was smaller still, but due to arousal, the muscles inside clenched in need, causing it to spread in invitation. He wrapped himself fully around the pale creature, nudging their noses together, and settled with him held aloft in the center of scaled muscle. It didn’t take much. Just guiding him inside was enough to make him nearly sob in joy, penetration agonizing and pleasurable all at once. Unlike human copulation, neither of them had to move much at all. Instead, he just held the Illusionist closer, buried his face against that pale throat, and let the tight muscles milk him for all they were worth.

The pale warlord responded weakly, muscles twitching and tensing. His clouded mind perceived the assault as a dream, nothing more. He moaned softly, blood heating up with pleasure. He wasn’t aware that he was being taken without him agreeing first; he had no other choice but to enjoy the strange lovemaking. Wrapped in blissful oblivion, he had no reason to protest; he had no idea he was fulfilling a comrade’s fondest dream.

His penis never received such a treatment before. He was no stranger to pleasure and knew the charms of a female body well, but a naga’s qualities far exceeded any human’s. The warm channel was so tight and the inner muscles were gripping him with such force, he had no chances resisting. As the minutes passed, Rajura grew harder and harder, until finally, the orgasm crashed down upon him, pulling at his muscles as his semen drenched Naaza’s insides.

He was proud in that moment, eyes on Rajura’s face and body tense as he was so easily pleasured. Naaza had enjoyed his first experiences taking a full male inside, but Ankor, that powerful warrior naga now frozen in the ruined desert, didn’t make him feel like this. He was burning and in just a few short moments, he had a brief reprieve from the aching that had tormented him for so long. “So good...” he murmured, rocking himself down again and clenching the muscles tight to try to draw another bout of sperm from the human.

Humans were obvious weaklings however, even if infused with demonic magic. The illusionist relaxed, all but asleep by now and his member softened once the pleasure faded from his blood.

He was dumbfounded, to say the very least. How humans were able to experience exponential population growth was beyond him, as the males of the species were exhausted after copulating just once. “No, no, no!”

Behind his row of human teeth, his snake fangs dropped, dripping with a second type of venom. While one tryst felt nice, he wasn’t satisfied yet. He needed to be full, womb crammed to the brim with his seed until he was sated, just a coil of muscle and colorful body curled up in the floor. “Not yet,” he whispered, rattle buzzing against the inside of his thigh as he slithered over thin shoulders to kiss his way down the length of his back. His buttocks were flushed, too. Even as muscular as he was, the cheeks were pert. Rather spongy. Jiggly.

He felt badly about biting into one. His teeth pierced the flesh so easily, venom shooting into Rajura’s bloodstream. While it took effect, phallus still resting inside of him, Naaza covered the Illusionist’s back in tiny bites, pinpricks from his fangs decorating his lovely skin.

The pale warlord let out a few distressed noises, squirming a little bit; but the aphrodisiac was already in his bloodstream and a little pain never held off the pleasure. The drug took over, re-igniting the flames; his blood was coursing faster once again, making him hard, pulsing between tight folds of flesh.

His head drooped as he felt that thick member nudge his sensitive insides. Arms tight around Rajura’s waist, he muffled soft cries against his shoulder and tensed his tail. His orgasms hit in waves, starting from the tip of his tail and slowly washing up over the rest of his body. Then it fell back, rolled, and crashed into him again in increasing intensity; it moved up in creeping inches, teasing him with the prospect of finally reaching his greedy womb.

He took hold of Rajura’s left hand and drew it up so it could slide through his murky-colored hair. In his frenzy, he didn’t even linger on how pathetic it was that he couldn’t even have a partner willing to touch him; he just nuzzled his palm, moaning in need.

He lost count of how many times he reached his peak. Somewhere along the way, he began to subtly leak fat drops of semen; he felt stickiness over his tail and when he looked down, he saw the liquid streak over his scales. Light-headed and heavy-limbed, he didn’t notice whether it was just minutes or hours that had passed.

When he came, it started from his hips and shot outward. His entire body quaked, a flood of his fluids melding with the Spider’s and the skin was hot and there were fingers digging into flesh and---

Naaza opened his eyes, breathing heavily. They laid tangled in the floor, in front of the smoldering fireplace. Rajura slept on in his arms, sated too even after his injection of aphrodisiac; when he strokes through the snowy locks, he saw a ghost of a smile.

He hoped his dreams were pleasant. Hopefully he was blessed with visions of someone beautiful and worthy, who’d never break his trust. Someone with beautiful colors and a fertile body, strength that he could be proud of.

Part of him wanted to redress the Illusionist by hand, but he felt he’d violated him enough. Magic took care of the problem, winding his soft robes around pale skin and cleaning the mess from both form and floor. Naaza allowed himself to innocently tuck the man into bed.

No kissing.

He was low enough for rape, but not kissing. It didn’t make much sense, but it made him feel a bit better.

After spending a few minutes straightening up and gathering the spiked tea, he banished himself back to his quarters. What should’ve been a night of bliss instead kept him awake, until fury made him fling the pot up against his wall, shattering tea, venom, honey, and cream all over the desert plants he cherished so dearly. There was nothing left of poor, useless Prince Naaza to weep, so he just swallowed back his misery, curled up among his tail, and laid with eyes wide open until the morning.

 

It’s not that Rajura didn’t question what happened the next morning. He felt dizzy and worn out and was giving odd looks to Naaza, but he was not the one to accuse a comrade without solid evidence.


	4. Fights of many kinds

Life continued as it was before except that the Snake seemed to gain wings. He claimed one victory after another, returning gloriously coated in blood and wearing a grin. Even Arago dealt out a few rare praises. Months passed in the mortal realm and the warlords’ will changed Arago’s palace and gardens as well - Rajura’s summer turned to Naaza’s autumn. The demon lord let them play and the more time they spent in the demon world, the more they yearned for some semblance of change. So the leaves faded and Anubis’ winter was drawing close.

Arago’s enemies didn’t seem to wither though, quite on the contrary. They seemed to grow stronger. Anubis, despite ruling over the cold and darkness suffered a bitter defeat and Shuten was needed elsewhere, so Arago eventually ordered Illusion and Venom to take charge. They balanced each other, the demon lord said, and he made clear that he had big expectations. Rajura and Naaza bowed to him and left.

They descended to a mountainous realm, where the battles were fierce and their enemies were powerful. But Naaza was practically glowing, strength pushing through his fingertips and guiding his katanas with deadly force. He and Rajura were enjoying the last of the sunlight that day--as much as one could enjoy a battle waged in full armor, anyhow. Cornered by a half dozen of the heavily-armored warriors, he made to evade a strike from his left, but stopped short when a familiar, agonizing pain shot through his entire body. The attack wasn’t meant to be fatal, thankfully, so he was thrown off balance instead of damaged horribly.

When he lifted the swords to defend himself, they felt like stones in his hands; a white hot flash blinded him, but there was no pain until...

He dropped to his knees. It was there again, stabbing deep into his core and leaving him breathless.

“Naaza!” The pale warlord’s cry rang out and he was at his comrade’s side in a heartbeat. The kamas on his back shot out, taking lives in a rare show of violence - Rajura hardly ever shed blood. One who was too close fell by the mace, helmet shattering under the force of the blow.

The air thickened with magic and a thick fog rolled in from the nearby forest; Rajura spun an illusion of the two of them fleeing and the enemy gave chase, leaving them alone. There will be plenty of time to get back to them later... Once Naza was sorted out.

“What happened? Were you injured?” The illusionist crouched down, curling an arm around the armored shoulders.

He had a moment to look up before the piercing pain took his breath away. “F-fine.. I’ll be fine...”

It literally felt like something was moving, grinding inside, the sensation like bone scraping bone. Starting near his stomach, it crept down to his sensitive lower abdomen, pushing.. pushing...

“Oh, no...” His head dipped forward, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

He’d felt this once before. Eggs were pushing together, then trying.. to come.. out... He could handle it, and he would bear it just as he had before: silent and alone. It never occurred to him before that their one-sided mating would reawaken his dormant womb, but the biological need was here and there was no keeping the eggs inside. He wound his arms around his middle, sucked in a harsh breath, and in the most vicious tone he could muster, he snapped: “Keep away from me! I need to be alone!”

“Try telling that to somebody who’s not bound to you!” Rajura snapped and attempted to pry the arms off the abdomen. “You’re hurt! We need to see to this at a safe place. My illusion will vanish eventually, and they’ll come back looking.” He glanced around, blue eye eventually settling on the cliffs towering above them. “Anubis said there were caves in the mountain. With a little magic, we’ll be safe in one.” Something was a little odd about that injury... He couldn’t see blood.

His jaw clenched tightly. Touching his arms was a horrible idea, as the mere gesture pushed just a little more upon his abdomen and left him reeling. His body was reacting despite itself, mouth filling with venom so he could spit or bite to protect his young. An old habit re-emerged, his left foot twitching against the ground where his rattle should’ve been. Females and royals usually laid eggs on their own or with another that could carry children--the ancient practice of a male killing newborns was one that left carriers highly aggressive and protective. “I said--”

The pain moved down even further, past his abdomen and between his hips, where the shell strained against lining and bone. “..hhyes, move us..”

It took all he had to will the armor away, foregoing subarmor, even clothing, so he could transition easily to his true self. He seemed to shrink in Rajura’s arms, just an olive-skinned creature topped with dark, muddy hair, then his legs fused together again. The pressure was mind-blowing, as the human pelvis gave way to sore muscle and violently contracting folds. “Rajura, please..!”

The pale warlord’s lone eye went impossibly wide at the sight but for his credit, he didn’t question. He threw Naaza’s arms around his neck for a secure hold and launched a teleport spell, that’d at least bring them closer to safety. It took at least a good ten minutes to progress from there, but Rajura finally located a deep cavern with a few small side caves. He dragged his companion into one then sealed the entrance with spiderweb and mirage. They were safe for the time being.

He turned back to the naga. “Tell me what is happening to you, please! I cannot help if I don’t know it it’s a wound or something else... Why did you change form at all?”

He dropped onto his hands, massive body stretching out behind him for eight feet. The rattle shivered, beating against the ground in audible threat to the male in the cave with him. Explaining would mean talking, talking would mean breathing, and breathing would mean pain, pain, _pain_... His hand pressed flat to where his pelvis would’ve been, but it did little to soothe the ache.

An egg was pressing into the birth canal, dragging along the delicate flesh, and it took all he had to keep from howling in pain. Slowly, his tail began to bunch upward, where it curled protectively around his waist and hips. His hands clawed at the dirt. His teeth dug into his lips. He arched forward, buried his face against his lower body, and let the muscles ripple from the tip up, coaxing the first egg to strain out of his tiny opening. It was a spot of deep green, like smokey jade, peeking out of the warmth of his body. Pushing was pure hell, exactly what he didn’t want to do, but it had to be done. He smelled blood in the air and stifled a sob--even while enduring this, he didn’t want Rajura to understand.

“Naaza!” The illusionist’s voice trembled with worry. He went closer, cautiously though, because the other was showing signs of hostility. “Naaza, please! Tell me you’re not dying at least...” He briefly marveled at the scaled body, so sleek and strong. Seemed convenient too, providing apt cover for Venom. “Naaza, you’re scaring me. If I can help-”

He glanced down, spying pearlescent streaks among the green. His heart gave a little trill, ignoring simple coincidence and filling his head with sick pride. Rajura was the reason for the pink, because these were his, too.

His laugh was strained, sounding more like an agonized whimper, and he doubled over as his body forced the widest part of the egg through his opening. “N-not.. dying..”

Naaza wanted to beckon him to see. But he knew Rajura would not be proud once he realized how he came to be this way. “Stay back.. plea-please..” His hand curled into a tight fist, then beat onto the ground as the egg finally slipped through and landed on a cushion made up of his massive tail. Immediately, he began to gasp for breath, gulping down oxygen like a man just pulled from the brink of drowning. His reprieve would be brief, as the sharp stab of a second, third, maybe fourth egg fighting for birth sent shudders down his spine.

Rajura never felt so helpless before. Right before him, a comrade a friend was writhing in agony, and he was to stay back and just watch...? His hands balled up into fists, gauntlet creaking from pressure. Even if the other didn’t want to share the cause of the pain, there was surely a way to lessen it...! But he was not a healer; illusions just covered things, never fixed them. His magic didn’t bend that way. He was-

A warlord with a kanji lighting up on his forehead. Rajura could feel the soft pink glow. He wasn’t just Illusion, he was Endurance. He was the one taking the pain wordlessly.

Ignoring the warning-plea of the naga, Rajura stepped closer and knelt down next to his comrade. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just watch you struggling. Accept my help, please.” His armor and subarmor vanished, and his bare hand came to rest on a sweaty shoulder. His virtue glowed brighter and its power seeped into Naaza guided by its bearer’s will, seeping into his weary body and warming it up.

He bared his fangs but could not bring himself to bite. His left hand lifted from its tense position on the ground to curl around Rajura’s. Their fingers tangled, the heat enough to give him a moment of peace. Naaza felt loved in that moment.

Then the second egg breached, and he moaned low in his throat. Thankfully, it was a bit smaller than the first, and passed after just a few strained breaths. It lay next to the larger egg, a deeper green mottled with ochre.

The Illusionist never let go, just closed his eye to give his friend some privacy. He merely called forth the magic coursing in his body for help, the power of the virtue soothing, calming, warming the abused insides. He was willing to sit here and pour the last drop of magic he had in him into Naaza.

The third came easily, too, his muscles relaxing instead of resisting, just allowing the lovely thing to slide and rest beside its others. He could feel himself growing boneless, even as he trembled with exhaustion, and he barely made a sound as the fourth, larger than the rest, gave one final shove against his sore opening. With just a little strain, it passed, and he sank back into Rajura.

Any other time, he would’ve been ashamed to let their bodies touch when he was so filthy, covered in sweat and a little dirt, even some blood. But it felt all right now. “Your heart is too bright for the netherrealms,” he mumbled, out of pure adoration not malice.

“You’re way too out of it to think,” the pale warlord chuckled as the kanji slowly faded and fatigue threatened to overwhelm him. Magic was always taxing, no matter the intention. He could even feel tiny slivers of pain flashing across his abdomen, the echo of what Naaza had to endure.

“I’m just as much of a demon as any of you... I just have better manners.” He sat back and took a deep breath. “Looks like it’s over... Am I going to get an explanation eventually?” He could pick up the scent of blood, and it didn’t make him calmer. But the pain was gone now.

“It’d be nice to know when you’ll be back on your feet... The mission is still not completed, and if we go back without accomplishing our goal, Arago won’t be pleased.”

He couldn’t resist and swiped his palm over the Illusionist’s forehead, letting his trembling fingers trace down to rest on his cheek. He lingered for only a moment. Rajura deserved an explanation--Naaza just hoped he could manage to give one that would spare the both of them an awkward conversation.

When he dropped his hand, it was to push it against the ground. The middle of his naga form lifted, untangling slowly from its tight coil, then creating a two-layered spiral around the precious, murky little eggs. He gestured to them, still shaking in exertion, and smiling faintly as he finally got a good look at them. Three green, one a soft, rosy pink. “This..”

The silence stretched between them, Rajura staring at the eggs, trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. “But- You’re a male. How- Male nagas-” He blinked and looked into Naaza’s eyes. “You’ll have to explain this to me a bit later, because you got me curious. I don’t think all male nagas lay eggs, that won’t make sense. And pray tell me, what are you going to do with them...? Taking them home and raising little nagas isn’t really an option. Even though I’m sure they’d look cute.” He shook his head. “Those are... pretty eggs. I like the pink one,” he offered sort of as a compliment. After all, bringing something into the world was an admirable deed.

His proud expression fell, and after decades of absence, he felt the first stings of that pitiful shame build in his chest again. Breaking eye contact, he slid his fingers beneath the small, pink egg, thumb brushing over its glassy surface, then held it aloft. “I cannot create life.” It rolled from his hand to Rajura’s, the temperature rapidly cooling without his body to warm it or a smaller form inside to radiate heat. “We of the noble class are gifted with the ability to both sire and carry offspring. But my eggs are empty.”

There was a smile, and it was bitter. “They might prove useful to you. I’d like you to have them.”

Rajura winced. Now he had an inkling why Naaza was only a former prince - the faulty was often cast out, he knew that all too well.

“I should have guessed. I apologize for tearing into old wounds.” He took the pink egg and could not stop himself from marveling at the delicate, shimmering color. It suited him.

“It’s hard, like a bird egg...” he murmured as he turned it around in his hand. It was obviously infertile; it didn’t weigh much. But still... it felt as if something had been stirring inside. Rajura frowned lightly and closed his eye, calmed his mind. He let the mystical third eye open because if he was right-

He was nearly blinded by the bright shine the egg omitted on the plane of magic. Sparkling threads curled around the pink jewel and behind the hard outer shell, it was filled with raw power, ready to be shaped by a skilled magic-user.

“Naaza- The egg might not contain an heir, but it is filled with magic!”

The look that crossed his comrade’s face was similar to one of relief--his slender eyes relaxed and there was a hint of a smile on his thin lips. “You like them..?”

He’d never seen this behavior from Naaza before. Venom lifted up the largest of the eggs, offering them to Rajura with almost child-like enthusiasm. “Is there more in here? Can you use them?” His words dripped with pride, and why not? He didn’t know much about the man’s past, but approval felt good for anyone. “Please keep them. I don’t mind at all!”

Rajura smiled and took a glance at the jade-like eggs. They all contained some power, though nowhere near as much as their delicate pink brethren. Still, they could prove useful.

“Thank you, it is a gift befitting a royalty,” the illusionist bowed his head in respect. “I’ll make sure to put them to good use. Looks like Nature balances everything out - even if you cannot create new life, your body found a way to perfect itself.”

He answered before thinking. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

His voice was soft, eyes shining in serene pride as he deposited egg after egg into Rajura’s hands, until all four laid like beautiful jewels within his gently-curled fingers. When he realized what he’d said, however, he started. His slitted eyes widened and he gulped, looking away in nervous shame. Slowly, he rolled up until he stood with his ravaged opening well off of the ground, then slithered deep into the cave to search for water.

The illusionist smiled, marveling at the treasures bestowed to him. “What have I done to-” The sentence was cut off. Really... What part did he have in all this? He didn’t do anything-

A memory surfaced from the recesses of his mind; a morning about half a year ago, when he woke up sore and tired, not remembering how he got into his bed. Naaza came the evening before, they had tea, with cream and honey... The slightly tangy aroma didn’t feel off, it was probably just the foreign flowers the honey came from... Wasn’t it...?

He had been suspicious that morning. But there was nothing to warrant his wild thoughts; he was fine after a nap, nothing happened, nothing was missing.

And now, the naga companion presented eggs filled with magic, one shimmering in silky pink and with all his kinsmen being nothing more than drying bones among the ruins of their grandeur.

“Naaza, what have you done to me?”

He paused, hands outstretched to water that rapidly dripped from the cave walls in a steady stream. The thick fingers curled, slick with moisture, and he rubbed them against his face before speaking. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The massive body coiled, though, a defensive stance that placed his vulnerable human half among coils of thick scales. And faintly, just faintly, his tail began to rattle. “I meant.. I meant that I couldn’t have.. safely laid them without you here.”

It could have been the truth, even. But without help, Venom would be dead by now; his life was at stake, not the eggs. But Rajura liked him, genuinely liked him and was willing to believe if-

“Look into my eye and say that I had nothing to do with their creation. Say that it’s just a coincidence that one of these is pink and brimming with magic. Tell me that and I’ll believe you. Then we can have tea again together.”

Naaza’s head dipped and the rattling spiked in intensity. “I didn’t intend for any of this to happen.” His voice was a hiss, barely above a whisper, and Rajura had to listen carefully to hear him over the threatening sound of his tail. “You weren’t supposed to know. I didn’t try to make eggs, but--”

He waved a hand toward the pile of pretty, gem-like abominations. Rajura hoped for a calm denial, as Naaza was always a good liar, but it seemed as though his abilities were ineffective on the Illusionist. “You were kind to me. From the beginning, you were always so gentle. I thought that you cared for me at first, so I let myself desire you.” He watched the naga bite into his knuckle, small pupils focused elsewhere. “It grew into more. You weren’t supposed to know. You weren’t supposed to know!”

The pale warlord’s lone eye narrowed with suppressed anger. “I do not recall laying with you, Venom. How did you achieve this? By drugging me and using my body as a toy?!” Naaza didn’t even have to answer. It was all clear now.

“You desired me and still, instead of you telling me so, or even attacking me, you chose treachery to get what you wanted? You betrayed my trust! How am I supposed to turn my back to you now, how are we supposed to work together?” He could feel the damaged nerves in his empty eye socket twitching beneath the patch.

“You weren’t a toy.” That ugly voice twisted, then cracked. Grief settled over his stern face like nothing he’d ever seen before, brow wrinkling as he hid his eyes in his hands. The rattling stopped, but Naaza sank even further into himself. “I didn’t touch you after that. Not once! I didn’t even let myself think about you, I just...”

The rattling subsided. He coiled up tightly, unable or unwilling to look at Rajura’s face. “I d-didn’t kiss you. I tried to go quickly so you wouldn’t notice. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Blind rage was taking over the Illusionist. He grabbed the largest egg and hurled it across the cave. The hard shell shattered against the rocks. He wanted to strangle the naga! How did he dare to- Rajura summoned his armor, wrapped an illusion around himself and stormed out without a word, to cool his head.

Outside, he lashed out at the mountain, his mace smashing against rocks until he fell on his knees from exhaustion. The snow started to fall, white flakes melting on his mauve armor and ivory hair. His breathing created white puffs in the chilly air which almost burned his nose. The pale warlord looked up at the sky and gritted his teeth.

Why did Naaza do that, why was he so stupid? Why couldn’t he just ask... It’s not that he was against it. Quite on the contrary. Rajura had been both with Anubis and Shouten before - out of need, curiosity, having fun... He suspected Naaza was attracted to him, but he thought the naga’s behavior was an indication that he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Rajura was no saint, but he didn’t want to hurt a comrade. So he waited.

He wasn’t in love, oh, far from it. But he was curious. He would have liked to see that scaled tail. Was the skin different? Or the eyes? Now he knew the answers, but it was not how he intended to find out.

The cold crept up on him, making him shift and get up. The pale warlord took a deep breath, his eye closed, letting go of the negativity inside. He had to think with a clear head; and the naga would freeze soon if they won’t move, and reporting a warlord’s death to Arago wasn’t a tempting concept. As he walked back, Rajura thought the situation over again. Yes, he was taken against his will, but did that affect him in any way? There was no pain, loss, his body wasn’t invaded and... truth to be told, he would have said yes. It didn’t make it right, of course, but Rajura used to think fondly of Venom and they had to settle this peacefully - there was no way of avoiding each other forever. Naaza was in for a long quest for Illusion’s trust, but one day, Rajura knew, he’d forgive the desperate naga.

The cave floor creaked underneath his boots as he entered, making his way back to the miserable companion.

To his surprise, the imposing tail and vibrant skin was gone. In its place was Venom, seated on his knees wearing his sub-armor and face as drawn, neutral as he’d ever seen it. He was shaking, though, from cold, exhaustion, or perhaps emotion, and his posture was visibly weakened. Further discussion would probably have to wait, as Naaza was losing color by the second--a sure sign that the snow outside was not going unnoticed in their small shelter.

He stood wordlessly, using the rock wall for support, and took a few short steps. Rajura saw just a flash of some strain before the reptilian face was covered by his mask and helmet, full armor cloaking the shorter body. “We should go back. Arago will want our report.”

A small glance over the other’s sloped shoulder guard revealed that the eggs were piled neatly behind a rock, like some pitiful attempt to shelter the dead things from the chill. He saw that the pieces from their unfortunate companion were laid together, with a circle drawn around their perimeter in the dirt. At four points, Naaza had added strange symbols; the cardinal directions, he noticed.

“We’ll have to return once you’re properly rested. Arago won’t be pleased, but it’s just a minor setback, we’ll be back come the morrow.” Rajura summoned his own helmet to hide his face. “Go ahead. Take a good look around, from this vantage point, you might notice smoke. it will at least help us to track them.”

Once Naaza was out after a mute nod, the pale warlord crouched and collected the eggs. He was not going to leave them; no matter what, they were valuable, and might just come handy on their mission. Hiding them well, he walked after his comrade and soon, the Dynasty-gate swallowed them, taking them back to their master’s plane.


End file.
